It is probable that all those concerned in the matter who slept at
the Lion d'Or that night, made up their minds that on the following
day the powers of the establishment must come to some decision. It
was not right that a young woman should have to live in the house
with two favoured lovers; nor, as regarded the young men, was it
right that they should be allowed to go on glaring at each other.
Both Michel and Madame Voss feared that they would do more than
glare, seeing that they were so like two dogs with one bone between
them, who, in such an emergency, will generally fight. Urmand
himself was quite alive to the necessity of putting an end to his
present exceptionally disagreeable position. He was very angry;
very angry naturally with Marie, who had, he thought, treated him
villainously. Why had she made that little soft, languid promise to
him when he was last at Granpere, if she had not then loved him?
And of course he was angry with George Voss. What unsuccessful
lover fails of being angry with his happy rival? And then George
had behaved with outrageous impropriety. Urmand was beginning now
to have a clear insight of the circumstances. George and Marie had
been lovers, and then George, having been sent away, had forgotten
his love for a year or more. But when the girl had been
accommodated with another lover, then he thrust himself forward and
disturbed everybody's arrangements! No conduct could have been
worse than this. But, nevertheless, Urmand's anger was the hottest
against Michel Voss himself. Had he been left alone at Basle, had
he been allowed to receive Marie's letter, and act upon it in
accordance with his own judgment, he would never have made himself
ridiculous by appearing at Granpere as a discomfited lover.
But the innkeeper had come and dragged him away from home, had
misrepresented everything, had carried him away, as it were, by
force to the scene of his disgrace, and now--threw him over! He, at
any rate, he, Michel Voss, should, as Adrian Urmand felt very
bitterly, have been true and constant; but Michel, whose face could
not lie, whatever his words might do, was clearly as anxious to be
rid of his young friend as were any of the others in the hotel.
Urmand himself would have been very glad to be back at Basle. He
had come to regard any farther connection with the inn at Granpere
as extremely undesirable. The Voss family was low. He had found
that out during his present visit. But how was he to get away, and
not look, as he was going, like a dog with his tail between his
legs? He had so clear a right to demand Marie's hand, that he could
not bring himself to bear to be robbed of his claim. And yet he had
come to perceive how very foolish such a marriage would be. He had
been told that he could do better. Of course he could do better.
But how could he be rid of his bargain without submitting to
ill-treatment? If Michel had not come and fetched him away from his
home the ill-treatment would have been by comparison slight, and of
that normal kind to which young men are accustomed. But to be
brought over to the house, and then to be deserted by everybody in
the house! How, O how, was he to get out of the house? Such were
his reflections as he sat solitary in the long public room drinking
his coffee, and eating an omelet, with which Peter Veque had
supplied him, but which had in truth been cooked for him very
carefully by Marie Bromar herself. In her present frame of mind
Marie would have cooked ortolans for him had he wished for them.
And while Urmand was eating his omelet and thinking of his wrongs,
Michel Voss and his son were standing together at the stable door.
Michel had been there some time before his son had joined him, and
when George came up to him he put out his hand almost furtively.
George grasped it instantly, and then there came a tear into the
innkeeper's eye. 'I have brought you a little of that tobacco we
were talking of,' said George, taking a small packet out of his
pocket.
'Thank ye, George; thank ye; but it does not much matter now what I
smoke. Things are going wrong, and I don't get satisfaction out of
anything.'
'Don't say that, father.'
'How can I help saying it? Look at that fellow up there. What am I
to do with him? What am I to say to him? He means to stay there
till he gets his wife.'
'He'll never get a wife here, if he stays till the house falls on
him.'
'I can see that now. But what am I to say to him? How am I to get
rid of him? There is no denying, you know, that he has been treated
badly among us.'
'Would he take a little money, father?'
'No. He's not so bad as that.'
'I should not have thought so; only he talked to me about his
lawyer.'
'Ah;--he did that in his anger. By George, if I was in his position
I should try and raise the very devil. But don't talk of giving him
money, George. He's not bad in that way.'
'He shouldn't have said anything about his lawyer.'
'You wait till you're placed as he is, and you'll find that you'll
say anything that comes uppermost. But what are we to do with him,
George?'
Then the matter was discussed in the utmost confidence, and in all
its bearings. George offered to have a carriage and pair of horses
got ready for Remiremont, and then to tell the young man that he was
expected to get into it, and go away; but Michel felt that there
must be some more ceremonious treatment than that. George then
suggested that the Cure should give the message, but Michel again
objected. The message, he felt, must be given by himself. The
doing this would be very bitter to him, because it would be
necessary that he should humble himself before the scented shiny
head of the little man: but Michel knew that it must be so. Urmand
had been undoubtedly ill-treated among them, and the apology for
that ill-treatment must be made by the chief of the family himself.
'I suppose I might as well go to him alone,' said Michel, groaning.
'Well, yes; I should say so,' replied his son. 'Soonest begun,
soonest over;--and I suppose I might as well order the horses.'
To this latter suggestion the father made no reply, but went slowly
into the house. He turned for a moment into Marie's little office,
and stood there hesitating whether he would tell her his mission.
As she was to be made happy, why should she not know it?
'You two have got the better of me among you,' he said.
'Which two, Uncle Michel?'
'Which two? Why, you and George. And what I'm to do with the
gentleman upstairs, it passes me to think. Thank heaven, it will be
a great many years before Flos wants a husband.' Flos was the
little daughter up-stairs, who was as yet no more than five years
old.
'I hope, Uncle Michel, you'll never have anybody else as naughty and
troublesome as I have been,' said Marie, pressing close to him. She
was indescribably happy. She was to be saved from the lover whom
she did not want. She was to have the lover whom she did want.
And, over and above all this, a spirit of kind feeling and full
sympathy existed once more between her and her dear friend. As she
offered no advice in regard to the disposal of the gentleman
up-stairs, Michel was obliged to go upon his painful duty, trusting
to his own wit.
In the long room up-stairs he found Adrian Urmand sitting at the
closed window, looking out at the ducks who were paddling in a
temporary pool made by the late rains. He had been painfully in
want of something to do,--so much so that he had more than once
almost resolved to put his things into his bag, and leave the house
without saying a word of farewell to any one. Had there been any
means for him to escape from Granpere without saying a word, he
would have done so. But at Granpere there was no railway, and the
only public conveyance in and out of the place started from the door
of the Lion d'Or; started every morning, with much ceremony, so that
it was impossible for him to fly unobserved. There he was, watching
the ducks, when Michel entered the room, and very much disposed to
quarrel with any one who approached him.
'I'm afraid you find it rather dull here,' said Michel, beginning
the conversation.
'It is dull; very dull indeed.'
'That is the worst of it. We are dull people here in the country.
We have not the distractions which you town folk can always find.
There's not much to do, and nothing to look at.'
'Very little to look at, that's worth the trouble of looking,' said
Urmand.
There was a malignity of satire intended in this; for the young man
in his wrath, and with a full conviction of what was coming upon
him, had intended to include his betrothed in the catalogue of
things of Granpere not worthy of inspection. But Michel Voss did
not at all follow him so far as that.
'I never saw such a place,' continued Urmand. 'There isn't a soul
even to play a game of billiards with.'
Now Michel Voss, although for a purpose he had been willing to make
little of his own village, did in truth consider that Granpere was
at any rate as good a place to live in as Basle. And he felt that
though he might abuse Granpere, it was very uncourteous in Adrian
Urmand to do so. 'I don't think much of playing billiards in the
morning, I must own,' said he.
'I daresay not,' said Urmand, still looking at the ducks.
Michel had made no progress as yet, so he sat down and scratched his
head. The more he thought of it, the larger the difficulty seemed
to be. He was quite aware now that it was his own unfortunate
journey to Basle which had brought so heavy a burden on him. It was
as yet no more than three or four days since he had taken upon
himself to assure the young man that he, by his own authority, would
make everything right; and now he was forced to acknowledge that
everything was wrong. 'M. Urmand,' he said at last, 'it has been a
very great grief to me, a very great grief indeed, that you should
have found things so uncomfortable.'
'What things do you mean?' said Urmand.
'Well--everything--about Marie, you know. When I went over to Basle
the other day, I didn't think how it was going to turn out. I
didn't indeed.'
'And how is it going to turn out?'
'I can't make the young woman consent, you know,' said the
innkeeper.
'Let me tell you, M. Voss, that I wouldn't have the young woman, as
you call her, if she consented ever so much. She has disgraced me.'
To this Michel listened with perfect equanimity.
'She has disgraced you.'
At hearing this Michel bit his lips, telling himself, however, that
there had been mistakes made, and that he was bound to bear a good
deal.
'And she has disgraced herself,' said Adrian Urmand, with all the
emphasis that he had at command.
'I deny it,' said Marie's uncle, coming close up to his opponent,
and standing before him. 'I deny it. It is not true. That shall
not be said in my hearing, even by you.'
'But I do say it. She has disgraced herself. Did she not give me
her troth, when all the time she intended to marry another man?'
'No! She did nothing of the kind. And look here, my friend, if you
wish to be treated like a man in this house, you had better not say
anything against any of the women who live in it. You may abuse me
as much as you please,--and George too, if it will do you any good.
There have been mistakes made, and we owe you something.'
'By heavens, yes; you do.'
'But you sha'n't take it out in saying anything against Marie
Bromar,--not in my hearing.'
'Why;--what will you do?'
'Don't drive me to do anything, M. Urmand. If there is any
compensation possible--'
'Of course there must be compensation.'
'What is it you will take? Is it money?'
'Money;--no. As for money, I'm better off than any of you.'
'What is it, then? You don't want the girl herself?'
'No;--certainly not. I would not take her if she came and knelt to
me.'
'What can we do, then? If you will only say.'
'I want--I want--I don't know what I want. I have been cruelly
ill-used, and made a fool of before everybody. I never heard of such
a case before;--never. And I have been so generous and honest to
you! I did not ask for a franc of dot; and now you come and offer me
money. I don't think any man ever was so badly used anywhere.' And
on saying this Adrian Urmand in very truth burst into tears.
The innkeeper's heart was melted at once. It was all so true!
Between them they had treated him very badly. But then there had
been so many unfortunate and unavoidable mistakes! When the young
man talked of compensation, what was Michel Voss to think? His son
had been led into exactly the same error. Nevertheless, he repented
himself bitterly in that he had said anything about money, and was
prepared to make the most abject apologies. Adrian Urmand had
fallen into a chair, and Michel Voss came and seated himself close
beside him.
'I beg your pardon, Urmand; I do indeed. I ought not to have
mentioned money. But when you spoke of compensation--'
'It wasn't that. It wasn't that. It's my feelings!'
Then the white cambric handkerchief was taken out and used with
considerable vehemence.
From that moment the innkeeper's goodwill towards Urmand returned,
though of course he was quite aware that there was no place for him
in that family.
'If there is anything I can do, I will do it,' said Michel
piteously. 'It has been unfortunate. I know it has been very
unfortunate. But we didn't mean to be untrue.'
'If you had only left me alone when I was at home!' said the
unfortunate young man, who was still sobbing bitterly.
They two remained in the long room together for a considerable time,
during all of which Michel Voss was as gentle as though Urmand had
been a child. Nor did the poor rejected lover again have recourse
to any violence of abuse, though he would over and over again repeat
his opinion that surely, since lovers were first known in the world,
and betrothals of marriage first made, no one had ever been so
ill-used as was he. It soon became clear to Michel that his great
grief did not come from the loss of his wife, but from the feeling
that everybody would know that he had been ill-used. There wasn't
a shopkeeper in his own town, he said, who hadn't heard of his
approaching marriage. And what was he to say when he went back?
'Just say that you found us so rough and rustic,' said Michel Voss.
But Urmand knew well that no such saying on his part would be
believed.
'I think I shall go to Lyons,' said he, 'and stay there for six
months. What's the business to me? I don't care for the business.'
There they sat all the morning. Two or three times Peter Veque
opened the door, peeped in at them, and then brought down word that
the conference was still going on.
'The master is sitting just over him like,' said Peter, 'and they're
as close and loving as birds.'
Marie listened, and said not a word to any one. George had made two
or three little attempts during the morning to entice her into some
lover-like privacy. But Marie would not be enticed. The man to
whom she was betrothed was still in the house; and, though she was
quite secure that the betrothals would now be absolutely annulled,
still she would not actually entertain another lover till this was
done.
At length the door of the long room was opened, and the two men came
out. Adrian Urmand, who was the first to be seen in the passage,
went at once to his bedroom, and then Michel descended to the little
parlour. Marie was at the moment sitting on her stool of authority
in the office, from whence she could hear what was said in the
parlour. Satisfied with this, she did not come down from her seat.
In the parlour was Madame Voss and the Cure, and George, who had
seen his father from the front door, at once joined them.
'Well,' said Madame Voss, 'how is it to be?'
'I've arranged that we're to have a little picnic up the ravine
to-morrow,' said Michel.
'A picnic!' said the Cure.
'I'm all for a picnic,' said George.
'A picnic!' said Madame Voss, 'and the ground as wet as a sop, and
the wind from the mountains enough to cut one in two.'
'Never mind about the wind. We'll take coats and umbrellas. It's
better to have some kind of an outing, and then he'll recover
himself.' Marie, as she heard all this, made up her mind that if
any possible store of provisions packed in hampers could bring her
late lover round to equanimity, no efforts on her part should be
wanting. She would pack up cold chickens and champagne bottles with
the greatest pleasure, and would eat her dinner sitting on a rock,
even though the wind from the mountains should cut her in two.
'And so it's all to end in a picnic,' said M. le Cure, with evident
disgust.
It appeared from Michel's description of what had taken place during
that very long interview that Adrian Urmand had at last become quite
gentle and confidential. In what way could he be let down the most
easily? That was the question for the answering which these two
heads were kept together in conference so long. How could it be
made to appear that the betrothal had been annulled by mutual
consent? At last the happy idea of a picnic occurred to Michel
himself. 'I never thought about the time of the year,' he said;
'but when friends are here and we want to do our best for them, we
always take them to the ravine, and have dinners on the rocks.' It
had seemed to him, and as he declared to Urmand also, that if
something like a jubilee could be got up before the young man's
departure, it would appear as though there could not have been much
disappointment.
'We shall all catch our death of cold,' said Madame Voss.
'We needn't stay long, you know,' said Michel. 'And, Marie,' said
he, going into the little office in which his niece was still
seated, 'Marie, mind you behave yourself.'
'O, I will, Uncle Michel,' she said. 'You shall see.'